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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355502">rain on a sunny day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celery_cilantro/pseuds/celery_cilantro'>celery_cilantro</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series), 天気の子 | Tenki no Ko | Weathering with You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Incomplete, M/M, Weathering With You AU, guess what i watched tonight, im doing that, on a completely unrelated note, tags to be added as the story progresses, yeah - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:20:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celery_cilantro/pseuds/celery_cilantro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a drizzly, gray slate summer night, in the middle of a nameless city, Remy meets Emile. </p><p>(The rain never stops in this city. He hasn't seen the sun once since stepping off his boat, </p><p>but then, who needs sunshine when you have someone like Emile to love?)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Wrote This At 1:09 AM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Remy still isn’t sure how he managed to convince himself to finally (finally!) leave that stupid little island, but whatever. He takes another drag on his cigarette and watches it fade into the fog, far, far away. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he turns away. It’s not like he’s ever going to go back.</p>
<p>The ocean is a beast underneath their little boat, and it matches the rest of the world: grey, roiling, and freezing. He can’t tell where the water ends and the sky begins, and the cigarette-smoke bank of ocean fog doesn’t exactly make it easier. </p>
<p>A spray of salt water puts out his smoke, and Remy hisses and tosses it into the sea. He looks up, breathes out (it comes out like a gust of smoke, like a haze of city smog and bad decisions). The air feels tight and cold.</p>
<p>It’s going to rain. He’d better head inside. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It’s raining in the city again, which isn’t really a strange occurrence anymore, at least not to Emile’s brother, Roman. He’s only eight after all, and he hasn’t seen anything resembling a clear sky since he was a baby. </p>
<p>Emile remembers, though. He remembers the dizzying blue of a robin’s egg sky, the fiery red of sunsets and sunrises, and he remembers the wavering, watery blue of a school morning, when the only clouds were little wisps of cotton drifting in the sky, like flower petals in a stream.</p>
<p>He’s never wanted a clear sky more in his life, he thinks, as he watches his mother on her hospital bed. The rain drums on the window and he hates it, hates it, hates it. </p>
<p>The beeping of the heart monitor doesn’t make anything better. Neither does the steady drip of the IV. Emile reaches for his mother’s hand. He thinks, fiercely, that if he had the choice, he’d never let go. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>They see the light at the same time. It was like a spear, Emile would say later. It was like a spotlight, Remy would argue. Both agreed that it pooled on the shrine like a dragon coiling around it's hoard. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The first drops of rain are just falling when Remy’s eye catches on a dash of light. He’s mesmerized (sue him! Who gets to see the devil beat his wife in the middle of the sea? Remy sure as hell hasn’t, at least not before), and that, of course, is the perfect time for the sky to drop a shitload of water down on him, like a malicious seagull shitting on a burger. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” he barely manages to yell--and then the boat lurches, just his luck, and there he goes, sliding like a kid on a ice rink, heading towards the rail, and oh shit he’s going to be sliding off the edge of the boat and die a watery grave--</p>
<p>--someone catches his hand, just in time. “Thank <em>fuck<em>!” Remy shouts, and looks at his savior, who says “Well, not really, but you can call me Janus,” which is probably the smoothest line anyone has dropped in the history of ever.</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Janus hauls him inside the cabin of the boat, sits him down, and offers him a towel, which Remy gladly accepts. He’s drying his hair when Janus speaks: “What’s a kid like you doing on a boat without a supervisor?” </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Remy is incredibly offended. “I’m not a kid, babes. I’m almost eighteen.” </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Amusement glints in Janus’s mismatched eyes (pretty hot, Remy concedes, but he did just call Remy a kid, so. Attractiveness points detracted). “You’re seventeen, then. <em>Absolutely<em> an adult. Forgive me, you’re clearly much more experienced than I.” </em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Remy frowns. “Geez, I get it. And to answer your question, I’m out here for some nunya.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“I’m not falling for that,” Janus says smoothly. “Keep your secrets, if you wish. But if,” and he flicks his eyes over Remy once “my observations are correct, you’ve just escaped from your decrepit island home and are looking to make a name for yourself in the city.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Remy scowls. “So what if I ran away? What business is that of yours?” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“None,” Janus tilts his head, “but the city isn’t an ideal place for children on their own, especially someone who’s never set foot in there in their lives.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“I’ve seen pictures,” Remy snaps. “And I’ve got a map.” he gets up to leave. “Thanks for saving my life, but I don’t need some fucking creep watching over me.” </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“I have no interest in being your new parent,” Janus calls after him. “I just wanted to say that you’re going to need a job if you want to survive.” Remy stops, turns around. Janus is holding out a business card. He smirks. “Consider my offer. All necessary contact information is on the card. Have a good day…”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Remy,” Remy says, after a beat. He takes the card. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Remy,” Janus says, amiably. He gets up and smiles at Remy. “Boat’s docked, by the way,” he throws over his shoulder, then ambles out.</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Remy tucks the card into his sleeve. “See ya,” he calls, half heartedly. He looks out the window, and would you look at that, Janus is right. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>The rain drums a steady beat on the top of the boat, which in turn rocks gently in accordance with the waves. The city awaits. Remy doesn’t deny it a second less of his presence. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>---</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Emile sees the light, but he isn’t much interested in it, seeing as doctors are crowding around his mother like a pack of hungry dogs, writhing and shouting and cursing and the beeping of machines is going to drive Emile <em>mad<em>. He can feel the tears welling up, can feel his chest trembling, can feel his heart thundering like the rain outside--</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>--he bursts out of the room and tears out of the hospital, eyes stinging, breath trembling and he doesn’t know where he’s going--until he looks up again at the beam of light, and thinks, wildly, that maybe it will lead him to his mother--</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He grabs an umbrella and runs down the sidewalk, eyes plastered to the sky. He runs past building after building, feet pounding on the wet sidewalk, splashing in puddles, and he’s freely sobbing now, isn’t he, how <em>pathetic<em>. </em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>The light leads him to a half crumbled building in the middle of demolition. It points to the very tippy top, and when Emile’s eyes fall on a rusty fire escape snaking up the side of the building, he thinks Fuck it, and soon the steady, solid beat of his shoes on concrete is replaced by the sharp echoing of his shoes on old metal. When he reaches the top of the building he realizes that he dropped his umbrella a few blocks ago. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It doesn’t matter though. Emile’s eyes are fixed on the light, and how it pools around a little shrine. It’s a weird place to put a shrine, he thinks. It’s painted and everything. There are even little offerings placed around it. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>The top of the building is covered with weeds and grass. There are little flowers popping up in the cracks, and Emile would think that cute if he weren’t too busy wiping the tears from his cheeks. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Oh well. What could it hurt to pray? Emile breathes in, and out, and walks towards the torii. Distantly he wonders if he should bring an offering of some sort--maybe he should have washed his hands--</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He takes another step and he’s past the gate. Please, he thinks fiercely, and prays with all his heart--for his mother to be alive, for their family to be whole, <em>for a clear sky<em>. </em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>The world stops around him. The raindrops slow their fall.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. This Took Me Way Too Long</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s like magic--it is magic, Emile thinks dizzily. There’s no way this can’t be magic. He closed his eyes for a second and suddenly--he’s--he’s been rocketed up into the air, floating in the sky, being buffeted around in the wind like a feather, and-- </p><p>“Fish?” he gapes, because there’s a tiny school of--something--swimming around his ankles, his wrists, swirling around his torso, keeping him up in the air even as he’s rocked one way and the other, as the wind drops him up and down. </p><p>He looks up to see the burgeoning darkness of space, sees the stars set in their diamond bright spots, like raindrops crystallized in place. Underneath him the clouds roil and shift, like dragons in their sleep. He breathes in, realizes that he’s never tasted air this clean before. </p><p>The earth is spread out under his feet (then his head, his chest, then his hands) like nothing has ever been before. The city looks small, like he could hold it in a glass bubble in his hands, like sparkling needles and beads and oh it’s beautiful. </p><p>A stream of rain-fish whip past his cheek and he turns to follow it, sees the sun in all it's bright glory, and a smile grows unbidden on his face. He laughs, because, well, the sun! When was the last time he saw a sight half as wonderful? </p><p>Emile stretches out a hand. He wonders, longingly, if he could capture the light, steal it away like a firefly in a jar and bring it back to earth. Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods. </p><p>Rain-fish weave in between his fingers, wrap around his wrist, and swim off into the great big blue. They swirl around his head, dart across, over and under his legs. The cloud dragons groan, and the wind howls like a song. Above them, the stars twinkle and the sun burns bright. </p><p>It’s like a dream. It’s like magic. Like the ancient breath of a god, like the eternal roaring of the sea. It’s the forever blue of the sky, the sky, the sky. Emile breathes, and he smiles, and the sun blinds his eyes with its glory. </p><p>--- </p><p>“Listen, kid, you’ve got to stop staying out in the rain for so long, you hear me? It’s not good for your health.” </p><p>The city, mainly, is a complete sack of shit, but there was one perk that Remy discovered: a little corner store that apparently sells hot showers and private cubicles. If the guy who ran the front desk keeps trying to condescend him, though, he might just stop coming out of pure exasperation. Remy isn’t a kid. He can hold his own. He can. </p><p>The only thing keeping him here is the promise of a hot shower every night. </p><p>Remy looks up from his phone and points it at Front Desk Man. “I don’t care. You’re not my dad. Shower. Now.” he resumes typing on his phone--writing up an acceptable resume is pretty hard, especially since everyone in this city is judgy as fuck. </p><p>The rain pounds steadily outside. Remy can hear the crescendo and decrescendo of cars roaring past, outside on the slick black roads.</p><p>The man quirks his lip. “Do you have my money?” he asks, readying a towel and a packaged bar of soap. Remy blusters. “Well--no--but I’ll get some soon, I--” he groans. “Ugh. Thanks, babe.”</p><p>Front Desk Man sighs and hands the towel, soap and a card. “I can’t keep on giving you free showers,” he warns. </p><p>Remy is already halfway down the hall, dripping rainwater all across the floor. “Yeah, yeah,” he throws over his shoulder. “Whatever.”</p><p>--<br/>The click of a pen. “Tell us a little about yourself, please.” </p><p>“Well, my name is Remy Delta, and I--”</p><p>A wave of a hand. Brows knit. “How old are you again?”</p><p>--</p><p>“Seventeen? That’s much too young to be working at a place like this--”</p><p>--</p><p>“Seventeen! I’m sorry, son, but you’ll have to leave, we aren’t looking for children--”</p><p>--</p><p>“Hey, shouldn’t you be in school?” </p><p>--</p><p>He keeps getting rejected. It’s pretty fucking infuriating. </p><p>--</p><p>It’s almost midnight, but Remy doesn’t feel like heading back. After the twelfth failed interview, he’d been escorted out from the building (with a lollipop! The audacity!), head buzzing angrily, back into the pouring rain. </p><p>At least it’s slowed to a drizzle, Remy thinks dirtily. He’d eaten the lollipop at around noon and hasn’t had anything since. He’s probably lost a shit ton of weight since coming to the city--Remy has money, but not enough to buy himself food every day, after purchasing a cheap black umbrella, and it's only the Front Desk Man’s bleeding heart that lets him take a shower every so often. Even so, at this point, Remy wouldn’t blame him for kicking him out if he returns.</p><p>So. He doesn’t. He switches his umbrella over to the other hand. His legs burn but he turns over to the next block anyway. </p><p>Oh, he thinks vaguely, squinting through the rain-induced mist and car smog. A diner, right across the street, lit like a lamp and emptier than his soul (just kidding, but also, yeah.), save for the little smudge of a cashier standing behind the counter. Remy’s stomach growls pointedly. </p><p>Fuck it, Remy thinks savagely. If he’s going to die jobless and homeless in a huge ass no-name city where it never stops fucking raining, he might as well do it after getting himself a decent coffee.</p><p>He makes his way towards the diner, whose lights glow like an artificial sun, throwing gold from its windows onto the wet pavement below. The door jingles when he opens it. </p><p>Shaking his umbrella closed, Remy surveys the rows and rows of empty seats, then glances towards the menu. It smells like fried food and linoleum in here, which isn't bad, just a little irritating. Not that Remy's complaining. They've got a heater on in here, after all.</p><p>He runs a hand through his hair and makes his way to the counter.</p>
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